Merry Christmas, Watson!
by Sazikia
Summary: It tells my (Christmas) version of how Gladstone came to 221b Baker Street. This is based on the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes movies and is set around Christmas time, before the first movie. It's not intended to be slash, just friendship.


"Merry Christmas, Watson!", greeted Sherlock Holmes with a big smile and handed his flat mate an old cardboard box with a big red bow of ribbon untidily tied around it.

"Holmes, it's just the third Sunday in Advent", said Dr. Watson, raising an eyebrow and putting down the paper he had been reading. He gave his friend a skeptical look as he took the box. "And why are there holes in it?"

"Just open it already!"

Watson sighed as he carefully opened the box and looked into the big brown eyes of a rather wrinkly looking puppy, which was just about the size of a guinea-pig.

"It's...a dog", said John rather surprised and stared at the small creature, and then looked at Holmes with a mix of despair and bewilderment in his eyes.

"Very well observed, Watson. I see you're making quick process with your skills of deduction", said Holmes in a sarcastic tone and lit his pipe. "It's a bulldog, to be more precise. You're welcome."

"Holmes, I can't keep a dog!"

"Fine, then I'll just put him back out on the street."

Holmes shrugged and blew thick blue clouds of smoke up to the ceiling of the room. Watson rolled his eyes and shook his head with an annoyed sigh. Suddenly he felt something pinching his finger and as he looked down, he saw the white puppy with the brown spots gnawing on his finger.

"Hey little pal, are you hungry?" asked Watson and couldn't help but smile at the clumsy animal. He looked up at Holmes and said: "So you found him on the street, huh?"

"Yes. I found him and his siblings near the Thames this morning. The other two didn't make it and I couldn't...well..." He stopped, unsure how to continue and awkwardly rubbing his head.

"Really? You couldn't just leave him there?" Watson finished the sentence Sherlock had refused to end and let out a short laughter. "Since when does the great Sherlock Holmes have such a big heart for lost puppies? People try to get rid of their pets in the Thames all the time."

Holmes muttered something unintelligible and Watson chuckled. Then he carefully picked up the little dog from the box and suggested: "Let's get you something to eat, shall we?" He turned to Sherlock with a grin. "Could you be so kind to take care of him while I fetch something from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen? Thanks."

He left the surprised detective with the puppy on his lap, and then he went to find something suitable as dog food.

When he returned some minutes later, he found Holmes standing by the window, but there was no trace of the puppy.

"Holmes, where's the dog?"

"Hm? Oh, right! He didn't seem to feel like waiting for you, so he wandered off."

" "He wandered off?!" Where is he? For god's sake Holmes, you can't just let a puppy run around in our sitting room! There are tons of your chemical stuff all around here and the dog isn't even housetrained!" exclaimed Watson furiously and put down the two small bowls of milk and cold leftovers from the last dinner.

Holmes raised his eyebrows and shrugged and said: "Well is that your dog or mine? Honestly, I thought you were capable of taking care of a dog."

That was one of those moments where Watson just wanted to go for Holmes' throat because of his ignorance. But the doctor just yelled "Find him!" instead, and started trying to lure the dog out of his hiding place with a piece of meat.

Holmes sighed and rather halfheartedly started to look for the dog below some chairs and the table, until a walnut hit him on the back of his head. "Ow! What...?" He turned around to see Watson who gave him a look which undoubtedly showed him that he was in trouble.

"Holmes! Look what you've done to the poor thing! Some of your chemicals have leaked out and the dog must have drunk it!"

"Most engaging", said Holmes and knelt down next to Watson and the lifeless body of the dog.

"He's not dead yet, but his breathing is really weak. What is that anyway? It's green!"

"It's an experiment", said Holmes smugly. "What a great way to test this new mix I've been working on."

"Wait, what? You wouldn't...", started Watson, but it was already too late. Holmes had given the pup an injection and was keenly waiting for any reaction.

To Holmes' delight the puppy slowly regained his consciousness, but as soon as he did, he snarled at Holmes. "Oh, you're welcome, dog. It's not like I just saved your life or something", affirmed Sherlock huffily and stood up again, throwing the empty injection across the room.

"At least he knows whom to blame", said John. He carefully picked up the dog that appeared surprisingly well after just a few seconds, and sat him back into the box. The little creature greedily drank some of the milk before Watson gave him a leftover of the roast goose they had had for dinner yesterday.

"Leftovers from dinner?" asked Holmes and raised an eyebrow. "That's not how you should treat a Christmas present."

"Oh, so you think testing new drugs on it is better? I didn't want a dog anyway", grumbled Watson and rubbed the belly of the young dog, which was obviously enjoying it.

"Have you thought about a name yet?"

"I just said, I don't want a dog! I told you, you could get me a Gladstone* if you needed to give me something for Christmas."

"Gladstone!" boomed the detective, "That would be a fitting name. Like that medicine bag you wanted for Christmas. After all, he seems to have a natural control on drugs."

Watson closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Holmes either had just once again wandered off to his own world and didn't a thing he was saying, or he just didn't want to listen to him. Watson presumed it was the latter. He shook his head and said: "We can't name the dog after a Prime Minister!"

"Why not, Watson? Someone named a suitcase after him!" hissed Holmes harshly and walked over to the doctor and his new pet. "Look at him. He absolutely is a Gladstone." He picked the dog up, grabbing him at his neck fur. The puppy struggled at first, but then just looked rather disappointed when he noticed that it was of no use.

"Fine, whatever. I'm sure I can find someone who's more willing to take care of him than I am. I will give him away tomorrow", said Watson, shaking his head and taking Gladstone back from his friend.

"No you won't", said Sherlock Holmes with a smile.

* * *

_*Gladstone: "A Gladstone bag is a small portmanteau suitcase [...]. They are typically made of stiff leather and often belted with lanyards. The bags are named after William Ewart Gladstone (1809–1898), the four-time Prime Minister of the United Kingdom." (Source: wiki/Gladstone_bag)_


End file.
